fer being at home this Christmas. Why, I doubt if I
shall leave my room by that time; I am as weak as a baby."

The week before Christmas Sir Edward was in an easy chair in the
library, and, though still an invalid, was now making rapid progress
towards recovery. He was conning over an article he had just written,
before a blazing fire, when there was a knock at the door. A frown came
to his face as he turned to see who the intruder was, but disappeared at
the sight of his little niece, rosy and breathless, in out-door
garments, and hugging a large piece of holly in her arms.

"Uncle Edward, he has come!"

"Who has come?"

"Tommy--he really and truly has. Ford told me just as I came in with
nurse. He heard it from Harris, and Harris heard it from Maxwell
himself. He said, 'My lad has come, tell little missy,' and Ford says
Harris said, 'He looked as if he could dance a jig for joy!' Oh, Uncle
Edward, may I go to them? Nurse says it's too late, but I do want to be
there. There's such a lot to be done now he has really come; and, Uncle
Edward, may they kill one of the cows in the farm that are being fatted
up? There's no calf, I'm afraid. May they? And may I go and tell them
so? You will let me go, won't you?"

[Illustration: HUGGING A LARGE PIECE OF HOLLY IN HER ARMS.]

"Most certainly not; it is much too late in the afternoon for you to
be going down there. It is getting quite dark, and as to one of my
cattle being disposed of in that way, I should not dream of allowing it
for one moment."

Milly's eyes filled with tears, which she vainly tried to restrain. When
her uncle spoke to her in that tone she knew it was useless to
remonstrate.

"They'll be having the feast without me," she said, with a little sob in
her voice. "Mrs. Maxwell promised me I should be there when they had it,
and I'm longing to see Tommy."

"Then if Mrs. Maxwell promised you that, she will put off her feast till
to-morrow," said Sir Edward in a softer tone. "And now be a sensible
little woman, and wait patiently till the time comes. You may be sure
his parents will like to have him to themselves the first night. Run
away now; I don't want to be disturbed."

Poor little Milly crept out of the room feeling very crestfallen, and a
short time after was lying on the hearth-rug before the nursery fire,
her arms wound round Fritz's neck, confiding to him the whole story, and
comforting herself by conjecturing how and where the meeting had take